​PART I – The Deer Story
Until my family moved to the Shenandoah Valley, we were major-city suburban types. Paved roads, sidewalks everywhere, gutters, and trash and snow removal were just some of the amenities we expected without really paying attention to them. But my grandparents lived "in the country," so I felt pretty knowledgeable about rural life.
 
Not long after our move, I was in conversation with a coworker, talking about the upcoming hunting season. She told me her husband loved to hunt, but they had a freezer full of venison and she didn't want any more. "If he gets a deer this season, do you want it?" she asked.
"That would be great," I answered enthusiastically. My tone was smooth and casual, but I thought to myself, "Yes! Free meat!" Feeling shrewd and thrifty, I pictured stacks of labeled and neatly wrapped meat in our freezer—and significant savings to our always-stretched grocery budget.
 
The weeks passed, and the conversation was forgotten, when I received a call at home one crisp fall day. The hunter had bagged a young buck, and it was hanging in a local barn. We could pick it up in a couple of days. Hanging in a barn! Pick it up? The whole thing?
 
And not only that, but at the end of the call, my friend added, "He'd like to keep the head, so you can just bring that back for him."
 
Indeed. I thanked her calmly on the phone before the panic set in.
 
"Okay, we can do this,” I told myself. Surely our ancestors had done this many times.  Not to worry. So, knowing how important it is to delegate to avoid becoming overwhelmed, I asked my husband to retrieve the deer from the barn. He brought it home in the hatchback of our small car.
 
Our children gathered ‘round the back of the car and peered at the carcass through the glass. "I think it's alive, I saw it move," said one son. “Why are its eyes open—can it see us?" said another. Putting on my cloak of parental calm and assurance, I told them no, it was not alive, and it couldn't see us. And, for good measure, I told them we were getting our meat just like hunters did in the olden days. They weren't convinced. 
To be continued…
 
 
 
 
Copyright 2016 by Barbara Finnegan – Used with permission.

​PART TWO:  The Deer Story
 
The next morning, with the deer still in our hatchback and still dead, it was my turn to ante up. I drove to a butcher shop out in the countryside and parked outside the main building. Resolute and strong, I approached the counter. I really did know these country ways, after all!
 
After ascertaining the legality of the kill, the man behind the counter said, “So how would you like it cut?”
 
Ummm. How would I like it cut?  “Well, I’d like it mostly ground in one-pound packages,” I said tentatively.
 
“You want the hams butterflied?” He said. “’Course, it’s up to you.”
 
Butterflied hams? Was that like bacon with wings or something? Busted! Seconds passed, and I knew I had to ‘fess up.
 
“Okay, I said humbly, “I really don’t know what I’m doing. It that’s what most people get, then that’s what I want─butterflied hams and the rest ground.” He kindly kept his thoughts to himself and wrote up the order.
 
“And, oh,” I added, “the hunter wants you to save the head.” He nodded his acknowledgement without flinching.
 
Mission accomplished! All that remained of my new adventure in rural living was picking up the meat in a couple days. When I returned, I received neatly wrapped and labeled packages of meat, flash-frozen and ready for my freezer. As I wrote the check, I mentally calculated how much I was paying per pound. Not bad, I thought─and for such healthy, low-fat meat, too. I turned to leave and the man said, “The head is out in the shed.”
 
Oh yeah. The head. Gross.
 
“Look, would you mind putting it in a trash bag and taking it out to my car for me?” I asked, hoping my pitiful glance would soften his heat. It worked. I didn’t have to look at the disembodied head, which I delivered forthwith to the hunter.
 
These rural life things take time. Now I’m trained and ready for that kind of thing.
 
The venison was fantastic. For months, my family never knew whether I was serving round venison, ground beef, ground turkey , or any combination thereof. We played “guess what meat this is” around the dinner table. The butterflied ham steaks were delectable─a culinary delight.
 
This event took place many years ago, and this former city girl has made the central Shenandoah Valley her home for over 25 years now. I don’t miss suburban living one tiny bit. In my book, living here beats suburban living by a coon’s age, whatever that is.
 
So if you know any hunters with freezer space for meat, just tell them to give me a holler. I’ll be right over.
 
Copyright 2016 by Barbara Finnegan – Used with permission.